


Turning the Tables

by Noelleian



Series: Turning the Tables [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: D/s elements, I Got Deep, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, Yaoi, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7240189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelleian/pseuds/Noelleian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quatre knows what’s expected of him. He knows how to play the game. But with Trowa, there’s a different game. Deeper, darker. One where they let go of what makes them human and learn to embrace the absolute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning the Tables

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This was originally a photo prompt on Tumblr which kind of took on a life of its own after I started writing it. Apparently, my brain wanted to be idyllic, so this is what happened. *shrug* Hope you like!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, please do not sue.

The fact that Quatre thought he had control of the situation was adorable. It really was, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Though he knew, just as Quatre did, that it was all part of the game.

Trowa allowed him to have the illusion that he was in charge. It was, after all, the precursor to the dark, sinister turn of the tables that would inevitably follow. 

Quatre really was a natural leader, his prowess in strategy unmatched. The most brilliant mind he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing. And it was true that when Quatre was in a situation where his expertise in preeminence was warranted, he commanded the same amount of respect and obeisance as his superiors. He was formidable, but not in the insidious, demanding way of intimidation and fear. It was his cunning, his knowledge, his mastery of charisma. His ability to manipulate, the bending of will by having to do little more than lift a finger. His subjects, more often than not, didn’t even realize they were being played. It was nothing short of magic watching Quatre wield his charms like a finely tuned instrument. Sharp like steel blades dipped in sugar.

He didn’t look the part and Trowa knew that was a significant factor in why it worked. Quatre was far too often underestimated, even dismissed by those who weren’t familiar with his talents. He looked more like sixteen year old jail bait playing grownup than an actual twenty four year old man with more experience and wisdom than anyone his age had any right to be. It was only fair that one’s first impression of him was disdain, followed by incredulity, and eventually indignation and outrage. Respect came later, once their pride had recovered from the blow. 

Quatre was an expert in what he did. Part of it had been his training growing up as the heir to a family empire, but Trowa knew there was much more to it than that. What Quatre was able to do came naturally. It was as indigenous to him as breathing. It was an intricate part of who he was. 

It was one of the things that made Trowa love him with a fierceness that often left him winded. Getting to know that mind was a high unlike no other. A feeling like sailing among the stars. An opiate and an aphrodisiac of the highest caliber. 

Trowa had been no different when he’d initially underestimated Quatre himself. Quatre was so efficient, yet so subtle in his manipulation, it had taken years for Trowa to catch on. When he finally did, instead of being furious, he’d found himself more aroused than he could ever remember being. He found himself wanting to pick that brain apart, desperate to experience the euphoria, the zen of intimately merging with the luminosity of that mind. 

When he finally did experience it, it had been like finding religion. That moment you discover that God is real. The fact that Quatre had permitted him entry into that divine matrix, something he’d never allowed anyone to do before, was intoxicating. Like being named The Chosen One. Like being offered the gift of salvation.

It not only gave Trowa intimate knowledge of the capabilities of Quatre’s mind, it revealed to him his weaknesses, his vulnerabilities. Trowa discovered a profound sense of inadequacy and fear of abandonment. He realized that not even the most stunning of minds was immune to the fears and prejudices of an average human. 

It didn’t matter how intelligent Quatre was. He was still an insecure young man who had no idea who he was supposed to be. He used his gifts as a form of protection, of self-preservation. Much like Trowa’s own walls, Quatre had built a fortress around himself in an attempt to conceal and safeguard a lonely, broken child.

It had taken Trowa by surprise. The idea that Quatre was as fragile as any of them, a revelation that left him stunned. When their first encounter was over, Quatre had looked away in shame and excused himself, disappearing into the bathroom where he refused to answer Trowa’s knocks and pleads to open the door. Trowa had kicked his way in, his panic that Quatre had done something drastic, driving his bare foot through the wood like it was made of paper. 

He’d found his lover curled up on the floor with his knees to his chest, weeping like he’d lost something precious. Trowa had scooped him up and carried him to bed where he spent the rest of the night soothing and reassuring him that there was nothing wrong with him. 

Even five years later, Trowa wasn’t sure Quatre truly believed him. Though he figured nineteen years worth of damage took a lot more than five years to heal. Hell, he wasn’t a stranger to his own trauma. He could attest that he was still carrying around his demons and didn’t foresee that changing anytime soon.

They helped each other through it. There was really no one else who could. With time, Trowa learned the inner workings of Quatre’s mind, becoming so familiar with the blond’s psyche, he almost didn’t know where his own ended and Quatre’s began. It was during these intense lovemaking sessions where they bonded not only in body, but in mind, heart, and soul. It was an intellectual connection as much as it was physical, emotional, and spiritual. 

It was also when he discovered that while Quatre liked to pretend he preferred being in charge, deep inside, he craved someone else to take control. And that ‘someone else’ had Trowa’s face and name. Though Quatre would never admit it, Trowa had felt it, as strongly as he could feel the sting of Quatre’s nails dragging down the skin of his back. 

So they played the game. It eventually became something Trowa enjoyed with an intensity that burned through his skin and set his groin on fire. Those moments where Quatre would pretend to be authoritative, in his own unique way, hooking Trowa with his feet and reeling him in between his legs, ignited the fire of dominance within him. The heady feeling of power over another person, vibrated beneath his muscles, humming like a well-oiled machine. They performed their dance, their mating ritual of cat and mouse. Trowa allowing the illusion that Quatre was the predator until he picked up the familiar signs that his lover was ready for subjugation.

He turned the tables with a viciousness that would have frightened an outsider. For Quatre, it was sweet relief and he surrendered with a softness, an acquiescence that fueled Trowa’s wicked arousal, his desire for conquest. 

It was the pinnacle of their sex life and they both thrived off of it, masters at their own game. It allowed Quatre to let go of what was expected of him and gave Trowa the dominion and clout he’d never had before. Their opposing dynamic made for the formation of powerful friction, the conclusion of which was an explosion of nuclear proportions. 

Trowa couldn’t help but believe they were meant to be. He’d never been a big proponent of fate until he’d met Quatre. Until he got to know him in ways he never thought he’d know another person. They fit together too perfectly, almost knowing each other before they knew each other. It was fueled by a mutual love, need, and respect for each other. A trust that could not be broken. Where Quatre let him in, he’d let Quatre in, peeling away the worn and ragged edges of his soul, allowing him to see the damaged core beneath. Quatre healed that raw center of himself, filled the fissures of past trauma, and sealed them over with a love stronger than any universal element. 

It was that love that made him open up, made him smile, made him want to _live_ and experience life in all its ups and downs, its good and bad and everything in between. It made him soar among the clouds and helped him keep his feet on the ground. It was nothing and it was everything. The fabric that made up his very existence, right down to his mitochondria. 

When Quatre offered him that coy smile, that wicked gleam in his eyes that told Trowa he was ready to play, Trowa would always answer in kind. When Quatre pulled him into the erotic space between his creamy thighs and whispered commands he didn’t really mean, Trowa would play his role as well as any thespian performance on opening night. He provided Quatre the illusion of control until Quatre gave the signal for him to proceed to the next level. He would use his powerful upper body strength to pin and restrain, to tear away clothing and render the blond helpless, to lift and mold his lover into any position he desired. He gripped and clawed, spanked and bit, plundered and fucked and Quatre took it all with enthusiastic abandonment. His submission sweet and honest with soft cries and tears of joy.

This was love like Trowa never knew existed outside of fairy tales. It was the epitome of being one with something greater than yourself. He would die for it, he would kill for it, he would covet it with every fiber of his being. 

He was saved. His messiah lying beside him, asleep with the exhaustion of someone able to truly let go. Quatre was his saving grace, giving him the incredible gift of transcendence. To lose him would be to lose himself. Life didn’t get any more terrifying, or precious than that.


End file.
